for the mother who does

my mother swears there 
were good days       I believe 
her      she zips my coat 
earnest  young  fingers      gentle 
palms when she tugs my 
hood forward        wraps a scarf 
around my nose and mouth    I sigh —
this exasperated sigh        think of 
all the kids 
whose mothers       don’t

my mother — eyebrows drawn 
when she puts our hands 
in her coat       waits 
with us in the cold      us held 
as she holds     her 
coat unzipped 
always         heart bare for the taking 
always         whispers her duas
verses billowing around us    blessed 
as we are     I think 
she is praying always     fingers on 
threaded pearls      threading duas 
always       wrapped in them as we are   

four corner apartment       four corner prayer 
mats         all corners laid pointed 
northeast         I think she is praying 
always         I swear these are 
the good days      blessed as we are       
my mother and her verses knit        the scarf 
around my nose and mouth now     I know she
is praying always      I sigh — this exasperated 
sigh        thank god 
I didn’t get another      thank god 
for the mother      who does